


Witch Hunts

by DaggerStar (orphan_account)



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Just a small conversation between the bois, Mentions of Death, Some inevitability talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DaggerStar
Summary: Gavin discussing with Michael about some concerns he has regarding the Fakes' immortality.





	Witch Hunts

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few headcanons about how each of the Fakes first died, so the stories in this one are just a couple. Enjoy.

   The lush penthouse was shrouded in darkness, put to sleep for the night and blanketed in a warm silence. Two men sat on the couch, having finished a hardy session of playing video games a couple hours ago, now just pondering into the dark. Time becomes meaningless if you have all the time in the world.

 

“Hey boi, can I ask you something?” asked the blonde Brit.

 

“I...guess,” said the auburn.

 

“How did you first die?”

 

  The auburn-haired man, Michael, stopped for a moment. He blinked at his friend. This wasn't exactly a topic that they and the rest of the crew openly talked about considering how much death they all experience constantly.

 

“I mean,” Michael rubbed his face, “It was back during the Civil War. I was caught spying for the Union and killed by a group of Confederates. Not exactly a fun bedtime story. Why?”

 

  Gavin peered at his friend for a slightly extended period of time before sighing and putting his fingers to his temple.

 

“I was, uh...it was back in 1542, in Cambridgeshire-”

 

“Sounds pretentious.”

 

  Gavin stared at Michael, and Michael bowed his head.

 

“Anyway, back then, witch hunts weren't popular like they were in the 1600s.  _ Definitely  _ not to the extent of here in places like Salem, or in England in Essex. But they still happened. A lot of questionable things could get you in trouble for witchcraft, which was rubbish because I really wanted a cat as a lad. When I was 24, I was gaffin’ about with some other kid named James or something and we were caught. My mum happened to have some charms in our house, and doing anything even slightly gay was frowned upon, so me and the kid were tried.”

 

   Michael furrowed his brow and made like he was about to comment on the story, but then saw Gavin's face of pure concentration and decided against it.

 

“So James pleaded against the judge, saying that he was under some love spell that I had cast on him. That was total gash because I hadn't the foggiest about witchcraft at the time, but the people bought it. James was let off. I wasn't. I was tried for tampering with people's lives and well-being through sorcery, the charges going as far as to call me a danger to the town. So a couple days later, I was hanged.”

 

“That's...really shitty, boi.”

 

“Yea. Woke up in a shallow grave with my torso pinned to the ground by a pitchfork. Died a couple more times trying to get out of the ground.”

 

   Gavin had a far-off look in his eyes; clearly this wasn't exactly the least traumatising thing to ever happen to him. Michael reached out to hold his hand, but Gavin just stared at it.

 

“We're witches, Michael.”

 

“Uh, what?”

 

“Us, the crew. We're witches.”

 

“Like, in an abracadabra sort of way or-”

 

“No, I mean like...someday, someone's gonna catch onto us, my boi. They're gonna notice the whole immortal thing and they're gonna want our heads. In a not fatal way, I guess.”

 

“Then we'll hide until the commotion dies down or something.”

 

“That's the thing, Michael, we can't hide forever! We can move around, but eventually, we'll run out of places to go. And when that happens, the witch hunts will start.”

 

“No one is allowed to come at my family with pitchforks and live to tell the tale.”

 

“It'll be more than pitchforks and torches and we won't even get a trial! New witch hunting generals will be appointed, searching everywhere for us. They'll never stop. No one quite lived without fear of being persecuted as a witch back in the day. We shouldn't live without that fear either.”

 

   Michael grabbed Gavin's hands and brought them to his cheek.

 

“Witch hunts still happen, and soon we'll be the centre of one, my boi. We'll get hunted, tried, and hanged.”

 

   Michael pulled Gavin into a tight embrace, looking out one of the windows, down at the city of Los Santos. He felt warm tears seep into his shirt where Gavin was and sighed deeply.

 

“I don't want to be immortal, Micool.”

 

   The auburn-haired man simply nodded his head, still taking in their conversation. He gently stroked his friend's golden blonde hair.

  
“I want to die, Micool.”


End file.
